


Silence

by shlaura



Series: Pretty Little Destiels [16]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 18:06:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shlaura/pseuds/shlaura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For some things there are no words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence

There were entire days that they spent wordlessly in each other’s company. It is a side affect of having the honor of spending ones entire life beside the same person. In their later years, in those years before they could consider themselves old, but long after the days of PTA meetings and ballet recitals. They used words as often as they didn’t to communicate with each other. An outsider would have sworn it was all happening telepathically.

Dean would roll over in bed and bump right into Cas, who was usually already awake, watching his Dean rise to consciousness slowly. He would smile his good morning and Dean would make a pleased little hum before leaning in to kiss the sleep out of Cas’s eyes. And even though Cas always woke up first, Dean was always quicker to get out of bed, leaving Cas to lounge while he went downstairs to get his coffee and Cas’s tea. While Dean was downstairs boiling water and brewing a strong cup of Colombian, Cas would go to the bathroom and brush his teeth. Dean would return with two steaming mugs just as Cas was settling back under the sheets. Dean handed him his cup, pressing his lips to his forehead for no other reason than he liked to do it. And they would sit in bed, listening to the birds in the big Elm just outside their window. 

Later, after Cas pulled himself away from Dean long enough to put on some clothes and Dean pouted and teased him by coming out of the bathroom dripping wet and stark naked, Cas would be in the kitchen, packing Dean’s lunch and the ever present slice of pie. Dean would rush down the stairs at the last minute, grabbing his paper bag off the counter and kissing Cas one last time before heading to work. In those years Cas had cut back on teaching hours and devoted himself to publishing academic works, so he split most of his time between the university library and his office at home. Either way, he always marked the end of his workday by the sound of Dean’s immortal Impala pulling into the driveway. Like an expertly choreographed scene, Dean’s keys would jingle as he hung them by the door at the same instant that the stairs creaked underneath Cas’s footsteps. It was the same greeting it had always been. Dean toeing his way out of his boots as Cas leaned up to press his welcome home into Dean’s lips. Then Cas would go straight to the kitchen. While Dean tossed aside his jacket and pulled off his socks, Cas would get him a drink. He only ever needed to see the look on Dean’s face to know what he needed. A rough day meant a glass filled a fourth of the way with their good whiskey. A good day meant a cold beer. While he was in the kitchen Cas would start dinner and then snuggle up on the couch with Dean while it cooked, watching some sitcom rerun or other.

They were a well oiled machine with years of practice. Cas and Dean knew everything there was to know about living together, about being together, about loving each other. There was little more to it than that.


End file.
